


Of Gods and Men

by plumtrees



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Experimental Style, M/M, Pre-Canon, sort of...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>The thunder of the ball echoes through the hollow of Shirabu’s chest and he’s left feeling like he’d just gotten the wind knocked out of him. He doesn’t need to look to see that everyone in attendance is also bearing the same expression as him: wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.</p>
  <p>The ball has long since lost momentum, but still, nothing stirs.</p>
  <p>In the wake of absolute power, what else is there to do but to be silent?</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gods and Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isshikisenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isshikisenpai/gifts).



No matter how many times he sees it, Shirabu doesn’t think it will ever get any less breathtaking.

Ushijima in battle has always been the image of perfection, magnificent as the tales of heroes and gods sung through the millennia, the personification of strength and spirit. 

The stories don’t do him justice. Words like “powerhouse” and “super ace” don’t even come close to encompassing how Ushijima is a miracle of physiology. The choreography of his movements can’t even be described as clockwork—no, nothing so robotic. There is nothing predictable in the quicksilver dance of electrical impulses through his body, the molten fire thrumming in whipcord muscles as he swings his left arm back for another spike.

The thunder of the ball echoes through the hollow of Shirabu’s chest and chases all the wind right out of his lungs. He doesn’t need to look to see that everyone in attendance is also bearing the same expression as him: wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.

The ball has long since lost momentum, but still, nothing stirs.

In the wake of absolute power, what else is there to do but to be silent?

-

Shirabu does not think to call this love, but admiration does not cover it either, not when he has completely molded himself to be the setter Ushijima needs, when he has sacrificed countless things that used to define him as Shirabu Kenjirou, all for one Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Devotion, perhaps, but that still has yet to be demonstrated. Right now, the starting setter is in the same year as Ushijima, pale-eyed with black-tipped platinum blond hair. He is good, but Shirabu disapproves of how he underutilizes their ace. He knows that the coach knows this. If he plays his cards right, it will only be a matter of time before he stands on the court as Ushijima’s setter.

For the third day in a row, he stays for an extra hour after practice to watch Ushijima do a hundred serves. He still does not have the courage to speak to him, let alone offer to set, but watching is enough for now.

On the fifth day, he dares to stand, his shoes squeaking against the floor and catching Ushijima’s attention. Shirabu resists the urge to make himself smaller as the gaze clinically slides over him, as if just now noticing his presence.

“You’ve been practicing serves all week.”

Ushijima grunts, still eyeing him, though his expression has mellowed to curiosity. “I would attempt to practice spikes as well, but Semi is unwilling to stay behind to toss for me.”

Shirabu bites the inside of his cheek until the taste of iron overcomes his fear.

“I could toss for you.”

And here, again, is something all the stories get wrong, because Ushijima’s eyes, said to be made of the most unyielding steel, widen in surprise, then soften in gratitude.

-

Gods are not human and yet in all the stories they seem just as foolish, just as vulnerable, just as easily attached. They eat, they drink, they indulge, they fall in love, they mourn, and they cry, just like humans do—exactly like humans do—and it almost seems like the only difference is that they can control all the elements of the earth, can command awe and respect and fear and worship, are capable of feats that grant them names beyond the ones they are assigned at genesis.

Shirabu looks at Ushijima and where others see a boy with the wings of a predator on his back, he sees a god gilded in rumors and expectations and stories and legends, carrying a weight that mere men would have crumbled under.

Whenever his fingers bend beneath the ball only to spring back to lift it high in the air in a flawless, practiced arc, he makes sure to look back just as Ushijima’s body curves in midair, milliseconds before the attack, and watches the light shine gold on Ushijima’s skin.

-

When the managers rip open the box and pass round the plastic-sealed uniforms, Shirabu wastes no time in donning the white-and-maroon jersey that links him to the strongest player in Miyagi, and he makes himself, and Ushijima, a promise.

_My own will doesn’t matter._

_I am here only to make you stronger._

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday kk! This was also partly (no who am I kidding this was ALL) mandy's fault.
> 
> have pre-canon shira waxing lyrical and spewing poetry @ ushi b/c this boy has it bad you can fight me on it


End file.
